


"No more will die today"

by VeloxVoid



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Duscur, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Tragedy of Duscur, Young Dedue Molinaro, Young Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeloxVoid/pseuds/VeloxVoid
Summary: Dimitri finds himself amidst the second Tragedy of Duscur, and the Duscan boy is about to be slain. He scarcely knows why, but he throws himself in front of the swords regardless, accidentally finding within his sacrifice a lifelong friendship. And the most important one at that.
Relationships: Dimidue - Relationship, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55
Collections: Dimidue Week 2020





	"No more will die today"

Dimitri ran.

His hair had been plastered to his face by blood - falling into his eyes and making them itch. His vision was red - not only from the fires that burned fiercely all around him, but from the gore that had splattered into his eyes as he'd witnessed the people of Duscur slain inches from his face.

First, his father. His step-mother. Glenn. Countless unnameable soldiers; lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses. Children. Parents. _People_.

 _Gone_.

But, that was then. That was years ago. So, Dimitri asked himself, why was it happening again?

He whirled around frantically, almost making himself dizzy, but all that lay around him were corpses. Lifeless, but still bleeding. Their jaws poised to scream out, but silent. And their eyes - their tortured, terrified eyes - open, but unseeing.

And they were everywhere. Weapons still in their hands, or protruding from their chests and necks and temples.

The little prince's eyes burned, but not from the blood, nor from his hair or his sweat. Now, they burned with tears. Feebly, hearing his voice rattle hollowly in his throat like a lost soul, Dimitri called out.

"H-Help! Anybody!"

He knew not where he was. Whether it was a city, or a town, or even a village, Dimitri could not say. It didn't matter anyway - it was alight. What were once buildings were now flaming masses of rubble; grasses and packed earth smoked beneath the blazes while cobblestones were stained black from ash and scorch-marks.

Dimitri's breath was ragged as he ran through the corpses as fast as his legs would take him. He looked for a way out - for soldiers that could help him or a horse he could ride, but smoke seared his lungs, leaving him to instead double over, choking.

Whether the tears that leaked from his eyes were from the flames, or from his rising, hysteric panic, he did not know. As he squinted through the plumes, though, he felt his heart leap - felt his panic dissolve into hope as he spotted people: alive ones.

A group of three, running in his direction. The shape of the helmets indicated that they were from Faerghus - they were his people - yet, the urgency in their movements showed something more than simply running to attend their prince.

It was then that Dimitri saw that they were not merely running, but _chasing_. In front of them, scarcely out of reach of their weapons, another person sprinted desperately to get away from them.

As Dimitri's eyes widened and his vision cleared, he saw that the soldiers' prey was a mere child. A boy, with hair the colour of the Faerghus snows, flecked red and black from blood and ash - just as Dimitri's was. His skin was darker than his own, though; the hue was the colour of the people of Duscur.

What struck the prince the most, though, was the boy's eyes. They were wide, and harrowed. Panicked - so large that they looked ready to bulge from his skull, with pupils like pinpricks. Those eyes fell upon Dimitri, who now stood in the centre of his path, and as he stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth opened in the most intense fear Dimitri had ever witnessed.

The boy's face mirrored exactly how Dimitri had felt when he'd watched his father die. Pure, untethered terror. As though a thousand deaths had befallen him at once.

But, it was not this boy's _father's_ life that was at stake now. It was his own.

" _No!_ " The scream that left Dimitri's throat was high, and filled with horror. The white-haired boy was frozen in place, and the soldiers behind him were mere inches from him, swords and lances held high above their heads.

Dimitri's little legs shot forward as fast as they could take him. He felt his muscles burn, but his feet moved him forwards and skidded to a halt as he put himself between the boy and his persecutors. He lifted out a hand towards them, and felt his other one grasp onto the Duscan boy's own, locking their fingers together. Dimitri heard his voice crack in his throat as he screamed:

" _Stop!_ "

"Fuck, that's the Prince!", "Stop!", "Lower your weapons!"

The words faded out as Dimitri's ears began to ring. No longer could he hear the crackling of the flames around him, nor the screams of soldiers and their weapons. A sharp, high-pitched wail took over Dimitri's mind as he turned, the world spinning around him, towards the boy.

Terror, breathlessness, and horror lit up his face. From beneath his white hair, drops of blood trickled down his forehead, and from his eyes that reflected the flames in an almost beautiful way, Dimitri saw tears.

The prince's free hand grasped the boy's hand from beneath, sandwiching it between both of his own. He hoped it felt soothing - to show him that it was okay - but the tightness to his fingers and trembling of his each muscle frightened even himself.

"It's going to be okay," he promised, but the words did not meet his own ears. The ringing masked everything - leaving his speech to sound like dull, incoherent thuds against his eardrums.

"What are you doing!? Prince Dimitri!"

His hearing slowly flooded back to him - the sounds of flames and anguish returned, but the voices of the soldiers were layered on top. They sounded tinny beneath their helmets.

"Prince Dimitri! This is a criminal of Duscur! They who brought about death of your father and the Queen Consort!"

"What are you doing!?" Another removed their helmet to reveal their face, and Dimitri was shocked to see his army's captain beneath an expression of incredulity. "Let us kill this monster!" she demanded of him.

Dimitri swallowed. He shook his head, and his fingers held the boy's in a death grip. He just wanted this to be over. "We must leave. _Please_." He was their prince, but his words were scarcely a command. They were a plea.

The soldiers protested, and tried to reason, but Dimitri's will was as firm as his grasp upon the boy's hand.

For the first time, Dimitri found the prince within him. When he spoke, he found meaning. He found a hardness, and a steely resolve. At last, he had found something he was passionate about. " _No more will die today._ "

The captain was, at the end of the day, at the prince's beck and call. She barked orders, the soldiers fled, and Dimitri was led through the flames back towards safety.

The Duscan boy, he realised, was holding onto Dimitri's hand just as tightly. His eyes were focussed on the floor - on his scuffed and shabby sandals that looked ready to fall apart. His clothes were scarcely more than rags; the holes and dirt and burn marks upon them could have been from today, or from some time long ago.

He was slightly taller than Dimitri, and pressed himself into the prince's shoulder as they walked. It reminded Dimitri of how Felix used to be with Glenn - physically inseparable. But, Dimitri found that he was thankful for the contact. This day had been long - these hours painful - and the weeks that preceded them had been downright torturous. The warmth that emanated from the boy's skin seeped through his clothes, warming not only his arm, but spreading through his every vein until it reached his heart.

He had not felt anything like it for a long time. This boy was almost like an anchor. Despite his silence, and his lack of eye contact, he had pulled Dimitri back from the depths of fear and sorrow that he'd spiralled down towards.

They reached the camp, with the destruction far behind them. Before his tent, Dimitri's trembling legs finally gave out, and he fell to his knees as the Duscan boy came down to join him.

They sat in silence, looking out at withdrawing soldiers, and at the wounded being carried back on stretchers. They watched the burning settlements, and smoking ruins, but also saw - in the fields that lay beyond them - wildflowers.

Dimitri focussed on them. They were beautiful; soft pinks and whites, and delicate yellows. Perhaps some of them were weeds, but they were fantastic nonetheless. They were untainted - unbothered by the death. They were pure and pristine, not ruined by fire or blood or the heavy boots of soldiers.

Slowly, he felt himself lean into the boy, who shuddered next to him. He was not crying - merely trembling - but he leaned in as well, until the two boys huddled against each other, shoulders together, silent.

As the two sat, physically pressed together with hands interlocked, Dimitri looked into those eyes. They were not bulging anymore, but they still held the same shock and fright that Dimitri had seen as he'd been chased. Now, he could see their colour. They weren't the red and orange and yellow that he'd seen before, from the reflections of the flames. No - they were green. His irises were captivating, sitting in the whites of his eyes like the sturdy, durable grass that poked out from the snows of Faerghus gardens.

"What's your name?" Dimitri asked, an audible waver still racking his voice.

The Duscan boy merely blinked back at him, white eyebrows flickering in confusion.

 _Of course._ Duscur had a completely different language from Fódlan - a language that twisted beautifully around the tongue, with elaborate, soothing sounds that Dimitri could never hope to pronounce. Yet, despite that - despite Dimitri and his soldiers speaking in words unknown to this boy - he seemed to understand. The eyes that looked back at him were not the eyes of a prisoner, nor of somebody terrified for their life. They seemed knowing; as though they knew that he was safe. They were slightly scared, and certainly tired, but so were Dimitri's.

The Prince's free hand pointed at his own chest. "Dimitri," he said, slowly and calmly.

Those heavy-lidded eyes blinked back at him once more, with thick white eyelashes. The boy's own free hand came up, and was placed flat against the boy's heart. "Dedue." The voice was deeper than Dimitri had expected - had already broken. But the tone was mellow, and soothing, embracing the prince's ears like a blanket of velvet.

"Dedue…" he said back. He knew the next words would be foreign to Dedue, but words were not necessary. He squeezed the boy's hand tightly - the hand that he had yet to let go of. "I'll protect you. I promise."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to @flobios on Twitter, for inspiring me to write this!
> 
> Link to their Tweet: https://twitter.com/flobios/status/1252330544446296064


End file.
